


The Road to Dartmoor

by rightonmybins



Series: The Real Househusbands of Baker Street [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, John is sweary, M/M, Sherlock is trying hard, You drive me crazy in more ways than one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:06:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonmybins/pseuds/rightonmybins
Summary: Sherlock teaches John to drive. Prepare for cursing and lots of it.





	The Road to Dartmoor

“Sherlock, I don’t really need to learn how to drive. I’m perfectly happy taking cabs and the Tube.”  
“John, it’s a skill most people have, and it’s not hard to learn.”  
“Why do I need to learn how to drive. YOU know how to drive.”  
“But what would happen if I was injured and you had to take me to Casualty?”  
“That’s what ambulances are for.”  
“Remember last year’s ambulance strike?”  
“There's always the bus.”

“John, learning to drive is so simple, I can teach you in five minutes.”  
“Sorry, not interested.”  
“It’s very mechanical. You like mechanical things.”  
“Sherlock, I like guns, not internal combustion engines.”

“We need to get away from London for a while, John. What about week in beautiful Dartmoor?”  
“What are you getting at - a romantic stay in a B&B? More breaking and entering into restricted military bases?”  
“No, no, just a quiet holiday. Walking on the moors, bird-watching, long drives through the…”  
“Aha. Rental car. I thought so.”  
“But it’s miles of uninhabited countryside - you’d never have to worry about hitting anything!”  
“Those granite tors seemed fairly immovable.”

“All right, now slowly depress the clutch…”  
“Dammit, Sherlock, I thought Range Rovers all came with automatic transmissions these days.”  
“I can’t help it if this was the only one available. Depress the clutch and slowly shift…”  
“What the hell is that fucking NOISE?”  
“You’re grinding the gears. Don’t do that. Just…”  
“Goddammit, this is ridiculous!”  
“John, STOP! Just stop. Now, when you step on the clutch you have to remember…”  
“I don’t HAVE to do anything.”  
"Don’t get stroppy, it’s just your foot and your hand. I know you have excellent coordination because I’ve seen you shoot people.”  
“It might benefit you to remember that.”  
“All right, perhaps just practice turning on the windscreen wipers for now.”

“See, you’re doing fine... John, the pothole!”  
”GODDAMMIT SHERLOCK, I saw it and then you shouted and made me drive right into it!”  
“Look where you’re going! You almost hit that other one!”  
“Sherlock! Just shut it! You are a fucking wanker.”  
“Don’t drive over that big rock, you’ll… never mind.”  
“All right, big fucking deal, that part was probably about ready to fall off anyway. We’ll just throw it in the back. Fucking wreck.”

“You did not tell me that there would be wild horses running across the roads up here, Sherlock.”  
“They’re not horses, they’re ponies.”  
“I still do not need any pony-sized holes in the fucking windscreen.”

“Sherlock, I have no bloody idea how to change a flat tyre, you are totally on your own with this.”  
“Well, I might point out that we would not HAVE a flat tyre if you were….never mind.”  
“Oh no, by all means, out with it. ‘John Watson is a fucking idiot.' There, I saved you the trouble. Cheers.”  
“You’re not an idiot….well, not about most things. But…”  
“Sherlock? Just stuff it right up your elegant arse. Sideways.”

“John, an hour of resentful silence is beneath you.”

“John, if I may just say…I think you’ve coped splendidly so far, for having so little experience. Well, for having no actual experience at all. Well done. Except for that tailpipe and the front fender.”

“John?”

“John, it’s very dark out here, and since you’re not familiar with the area, I thought…”  
“Oh hell no, you’re not going to shame me into giving up now. I’m going to drive the hell out of this fucking bucket, and we’re getting back WITHOUT FURTHER INCIDENT, and if you say one more word about my fucking driving skills or my fucking ability to shift, I’m going to take this goddamned gear knob and plant it so far up your…”  
“That’s not what I meant. At all.”  
“It’s not?”  
“What I was trying to say was…just pull over here on the shoulder. Don’t hit that...all right, never mind. Now – turn off the headlights.”  
“I had no idea. Look at all the stars. No light pollution here at all.”  
“Rather….romantic, wouldn’t you say?”  
“Yes, I might say that.”  
“ ’And now the purple dusk of twilight time, Steals across the meadows of my heart…’ “  
“What’s that, a poem?”  
“Song lyrics, John. Some lovely, romantic lyrics about stardust.”

“Another driving lesson tomorrow?”  
“Oh God yes.”


End file.
